entangled, with a jerk I made him let go his hold, clinging at the same moment to the opposite side, and plunging my arm in the water, drew him towards me by the hair of his head, and afterwards my portmanteau, which floated on the surface. We were not till now out of danger. Here ended the horrors of that dreadful night.

As the trench formed a declivity, thirty paces from thence we were on dry ground. Then we embraced each other, and fell on our knees to thank God for the great mercy he had bestowed on us, that neither of us had been dashed to pieces in the fall, and that he had restored us to liberty. Our rope ladder was so exact, as not to be a foot too long, or too short; every part of it was so well disposed, that not an inch was out of its place. All the clothes on our backs were thoroughly soaked, but we had provided for this inconvenience by those in my portmanteau, which being well covered at top with dirty linen, and carefully packed, were not injured by a drop of

water.

Our hands were galled by drawing out the stones to form a breach; and what may be thought surprising is, that we were less cold up to the neck in water, than on dry ground, when a universal tremor seized us, and we almost lost the use of our hands. I was obliged to be my friend's valet-de-chambre, and he in return mine. As we mounted the slope it struck four o'clock. We took the first hackney-coach, and went to the house of Mr. Silhouette, chancellor of the Duke of Orleans; but as unluckily he was at Versailles, we flew for refuge to the abbey of St. Germain-dez-prez.

Such is the narrative of this extraordinary escape. The unfortunate author proceeds to relate the various interesting circumstances that followed, till he was retaken and reconducted to the Bastile. His removal to the castle of Vincennes, his escape from thence, his recapture, and confinement in Bicetre, with his subsequent sufferings, are equally interesting. Humanity must shudder at the following paragraph, in which M. de la Tude mentions the fate of his fellow sufferer !

"Poor d'Alegre, my companion in adversity, not able to stand the shock of such rigorous treatment, became raving

mad. He was still living in 1777, when he had been removed to the hospital for lunatics at Charenton, governed by the friars of the order of Charity, a habitation which in all probability, they likewise intended for me; for they one day allowed me the barbarous privilege of seeing my friend plunged in those dreary cells. I found him among the incurables, and at sight of him in that horrid situation, could not withhold my tears. Surely this was an entertainment granted purposely to rack me with despair! I told him my name, and that it was I who had escaped with him from the Bastile. But he did not recollect me. He answered, 'No; he was God.'

"Perpetual imprisonment has been reckoned a favor to a criminal; but from my own experience, and what I have witnessed of others, with whose sufferings I have been too familiar, I will venture to affirm, that it would be a thousand times more humane in a judge to deprive a culprit of his life by the most cruel tortures, than to condemn him to perpetual imprisonment. In the first case his wretched existence must terminate in less than an hour; whereas, in a lingering imprisonment, he suffers every moment the pangs of a thousand deaths."

What exquisite refinement in cruelty! But poor de la Tude's own situation appears from the following extract from a memorial of M. de Comeyras: "It was on occasion of the dauphin's birth, when the king had appointed the commission to release prisoners not guilty of capital offences, that the cardinal de Rohan, who was the president, being authorized to set open the prisons, found the wretched la Tude confined ten feet under ground, clad in tatters, his beard a foot and a half long, no bed but straw, nor provision except bread and water. He had the hu

manity to order him a more tolerable habitation, and to his bounty, and that of several persons of the first rank, who were informed by the good cardinal of his condition, was la Tude indebted for the alms that procured it an alleviation.

"An abandoned villain, stained with the blackest crimes, would have fully atoned for them by thirty five years imprisonment, and its attendant barbarities. How truly pitiable then, is the man whose only fault affected not the king, in his person, estate, or subjects; a fault without a cri

minal motive, excusable on account of his youth, and which would have been sufficiently punished by six months imprisonment."

It must not be omitted here, that M. de la Tude owed his deliverance, at last, to Madame le Cross, a lady in the middling rank of life. The narrative of her astonishing perseverance in her generous efforts, and of her sufferings in consequence, exhibits a picture of female heroism, and of a virtue almost superhuman, that renders her name worthy of being transmitted to posterity, with the St. Vincent de Pauls, the Howards, and other illustrious benefactors of mankind.

The interference, however, of the cardinal de Rohan, procured only an alleviation of his sufferings, and it was not till the 28th of March, 1784, that the wretched de la Tude was discharged with a pension of four hundred livres a year. And thus he himself describes the horrors of his captivity:

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"I have languished twelve thousand one hundred and sixty-three days in the different prisons to which I have been successively removed. From this number of days, days of which each appeared so long, stretched on straw, without a covering, and devoured by odious reptiles, reduced to scanty allowance of bread and water for subsistence, I have groaned three thousand and sixty-seven in the damp infection, and gloom of dungeons; and for twelve hundred and eighteen of those days, or rather those endless nights of horror, my hands and feet have been bruised and torn by the vile incumbrance of fetters.

"Such a length of torments would be thought, no doubt, a punishment too excessive for the most guilty criminal. Let then my fault be compared with the boundless vengeance that has pursued it, and say, on viewing the picture can you refuse the tear of pity to my calamity?"

REMARKABLE ESCAPE AND SUFFERINGS OF CAPTAIN WILSON

THE hero of this narrative is Captain James Wilson, who, several years ago commanded the ship Duff, belong

ing to the missionaries, who were fitted out for the South Sea Islands. The particulars exhibit another instance, in addition to the many already upon record, of the fortitude of man, and the possibility of bearing hardships, which seem beyond the common powers of human nature.

Captain Wilson was taken by the French, as he was going with a very valuable cargo of military stores to Si Edward Hughes, whose ammunition had been nearly exhausted in the well known conflict with Suffrein. He was carried into Cuddalore, in India, which had been taken by the French, and there he found the crew of the Hannibal, in the same captivity. He was permitted, with other officers, to be at large on his parole, and hoped shortly to be exchanged.

Hyder Ali had at that time overrun and wasted a great part of the Carnatic; and in conjunction with the French, after taking Cuddalore, hoped to expel the English from all that territory. He had lately defeated colonel Baily's detachment, and made them prisoners. He used every effort to get as many of the English as possible into his power, either to tempt them into his service, or gratify his brutality by putting them to death. He had bribed Suffrein, with three hundred thousand rupees, to surrender up to him all his prisoners at Cuddalore; and the order being communicated to the commander of the fort, nothing could exceed the indignation and grief, which he and his officers testified at such an infamous bargain. However, as he dared not disobey the orders of his superior, he informed the gentlemen on parole of the transaction, and the necessity of delivering them up the next day, to the escort appointed to carry them to Seringapatam.

Captain Wilson no sooner received the intelligence, than he determined that very night, if possible, to attempt his escape from a captivity which appeared to him worse than death. He had observed as he walked the ramparts, the possibility of dropping down into the river; and though he neither knew the height of the wall, nor the width of the rivers, which were to be crossed, before he could reach a neutral settlement, he determined to seize the moment of delay, and risk the consequences, whatever danger or difficulty might be in the way.

He communicated his resolution to a brother officer, and a Bengalese boy, servant, who both resolved to accompany him in his flight. It was concerted between them to meet on the ramparts, just before the guard was set, as it grew dark, and silently drop down from the battlement. Before the hour appointed, his companion's heart failed him. About seven o'clock, he, with his boy, Toby, softly ascended the rampart unperceived, and the captain leaping down, uncertain of the depth, pitched on his feet: but the shock of so great a descent, about forty feet, made his chin strike against his knees, and tumbled him headlong into the river, which ran at the foot of the wall, and he dreaded lest the noise of the dash into the water would discover him. He recovered himself, however, as soon as possible, and returned to the foot of the wall, where there was a dry bank, bid the boy drop down, and caught him in his arms.

All that part of the Tanjore country is low, and intersected with a number of rivers, branching off from the great Coleroon: these must all necessarily be crossed. He inquired, therefore, of the boy, if he could swim; but found he could not. This was very embarrassing, but he resolved not to leave him behind, and therefore took him on his back, being an excellent swimmer and carried him over. They pushed toward Porto Nuovo, about four leagues and a half from Cuddalore. They had passed three arms of the river, and advanced at as great a pace as they possibly could, to make use of the night, since their hope of safety depended chiefly on the distance they could reach before the morning light. Not far from Porto Nuovo, a seapoy sentinel challenged, "Who goes there?" on which they shrunk back and concealed themselves, turning down to the river side. The river in that place was very wide, and being near the sea, the tide ran in with great rapidity. He took, however, the boy on his back, as he had done before, and bid him be sure only to hold by his hands, and cast his legs behind him: but when they came into the breakers, the boy was frightened, and clung round the captain with his legs so fast, as almost to sink him. With difficulty he struggled with the waves, and turning back to the shore, found they must inevitably perish together, if he thus attempted to proceed. Therefore, setting the boy safe on